


where will you stand (when all the lights go out)

by runthemredlightsbabe



Series: Look Alive, Sunshine [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi's mute, Anxiety, Depression, Disturbed characters, Gen, Lots of Angst, M/M, Pills, Please Be careful, Self Harm, Trigger Warnings, Ukai's cool, all the songs are by my chemical romance, attempted suicide, basically Bo has a voice in his head telling him he's the worst, coming-of-age story sort of, have fun, kleptomaniac noya, learning to love yourself, low-key schizophrenic bokuto, mental institution for fucked up kids, pyromaniac Kuroo, self-esteem issues like whoa, serious psychological disorders, so this is not fun, these kids are tight as hell, trigger warnings all over the fucking place, trust me - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7954861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runthemredlightsbabe/pseuds/runthemredlightsbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is a short story about:<br/>lost souls<br/>paper<br/>breathing<br/>scars<br/>my chemical romance<br/>lucky things<br/>losing life<br/>little orange pills<br/>River<br/>depression<br/>hope<br/>learning to love yourself<br/>surviving</p>
            </blockquote>





	where will you stand (when all the lights go out)

**Author's Note:**

> "Being happy doesn't mean that  
> everything is perfect.  
> It means  
> you've decided to look  
> beyond the imperfections."
> 
> (Gerard Way)

**Trigger Warnings For All of The Following Throughout This Entire Story:**

**talk/mention of suicide**

**attempted suicide**

**self-harm**

**self hatred**

**depression**

_**This story is not safe for anyone triggered by any of the above, please keep yourselves safe, know that I care about you** _

 

i.  _you're never gonna fit in much, kid (teenagers)_

When Bokuto meets Akaashi (or maybe it’s when Akaashi meets Bokuto, or maybe it’s something in between because they’re both star-crossed letters carved into a compass and it’s only the equator and half the world keeping them apart), he’s ten and too young to know what companionship looks like, too young to know much more than scraped knees and bandaged fingers and the feeling of falling through oil with nothing to catch you.

He’s ten and he’s alone.

When Bokuto meets Akaashi and Akaashi meets Bokuto, it is in the white room where the crazy kids go (Bokuto’s not crazy, so he doesn’t know why he’s here, and he tells the nurses that there’s been a mistake, he’s supposed to get checked by a doctor, not the crazy kid’s doctor, not in the crazy kids’ room, but the nurses just look at him like he’s the washed-out gray skies of March that everyone just wants to go away). So Bokuto sits in a bright green chair because bright colors are better than washed-out skies in March, and he looks around at all the crazy kids and asks questions. Asks River.

River is the only word he has for the Other one inside of him. He doesn’t know what River is or why River’s there, or why other people look at him funny when he asks them what their River is like and if their River makes them chew their nails to the quicks and puts thoughts in their heads of fire and blades and things that scare them.

“Why am I here, River?”

_Because you’re crazy and your momma doesn’t want you anymore_.

Bokuto considers this, and thinks it’s true. He remembers when he was small (three and four) and his Momma loved him, and there were flowers on the table and okonomiyaki on the stove, before the bad things came; the needles and the dark circles like bruises under her eyes and finding her on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night and _Momma, wake up, wake up._ Before they had to leave the nice house with the clean walls and shiny floors and new tatami mats and the wall by the window that looked out to the street where Momma measured Bokuto’s height every month and marked it with a neat little line. Back when his Momma called him her lucky thing, her make-a-wish-upon-a-star, her only-good-thing-in-this-whole-world-in-this-whole-rotten-world charm. ‘Cept now his Momma loved her pills and she called him her burden thing, her go-away-and-never-come -back charm, her her I-don’t-want-you-anymore star.

Bokuto’s ten when he meets Akaashi and Akaashi meets Bokuto.

Akaashi is little, little, small, like a tiny little bird, and he has dark glittery green-gray eyes that are like storm skies or the ocean, even though Bokuto doesn’t know what the ocean looks like (his Momma’s told him stories about where she grew up in _Okinawa_ , right by the big, biiiiig ocean, but they never visited because of the _military bases_ and the _Americans_ )

So Bokuto sits in the corner in the bright green chair and swings his feet and looks around and feels sad that he wasn’t good enough for his Momma as he tells River about the strange little bird boy in the corner. He tells River about the other crazy kids, too; the boy with charcoal hair all shaggy and awry, stuck up all over the place like he’s put his finger in an electrical socket, and the one who sits all hunched over his hands that fiddle and twitch like Bokuto sees the not-crazy kids’ hands do when they play with their Gameboys on the street or in the park. Bokuto tells River that the small bird boy is pretty like the streets after it rains and Bokuto can splash around in soggy shoes in oily puddles, pretty like the clouds when the sun goes down and everything is orange and pink and purple and perfect, pretty like the look on his Momma’s face when she remembers her son and tells him she’s sorry. The little bird boy is pretty, and Bokuto asks River about him.

_He’s a freak, just like you._

“You mean he has a River, too?” Bokuto grins, and jumps out of his chair (the nurse lady, the kind nurse lady who smelled like cat fur and too much lavender perfume told him to stay there, but he’s fidgety, itchy, and besides, she’s not his Momma) triumphantly, and shouts, “Hey! Bird Boy! Do you have a River like me?”

Bird Boy ignores Bokuto and picks methodically at a scab on his hand, knees curled into his side. He looks like a baby animal, like a kitten or a baby bunny or a baby bird, and Bokuto thinks that maybe he shouldn’t shout, maybe it’s scaring him.

“Hey! Bird Boy!” Bokuto says, softly this time, “Do you have a River in your head like me?”

But Pretty Bird Boy doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look up, doesn’t even acknowledge Bokuto, and the nurse comes in to take Bokuto away to the head-doctor-Odi-who-smells-like-cigarettes tells Bokuto that he’s going to stay here while his Momma is being taken care of. He says that Bokuto’s going to be safe. He says he’s going to look after Bokuto. He says he’s going to help Bokuto make the voices in his head go away. He says a lot of things about the ‘voices in your head’.

Bokuto is confused.

“Do you mean River?” He asks.

“River?”

“The Other one,” Bokuto points to his chest. “Inside me.”

“Yes.”

Bokuto frowns. “But I don’t want River to go away. They’re my friend.”

“Okay,” Dr. Odi says, and smells like cigarettes. Bokuto shakes his head, because he knows that adults say ‘okay’ because they’re not actually listening.

“I want him to stay,” He insists.

“Uh huh. We’ll work it out, I promise, but right now, you’re going to sleep in Ward C with kids your age. You’ve met a few of them already. Nurse Sakura will escort you to your room.” 

_They’re locking you up,_ River says. _They’re locking you up because you’re crazy and your Momma doesn’t want you anymore._

Bokuto’s heart starts to pound and he feels sick to his stomach and also scared. “No, they’re not.”

Dr. Odi raises an eyebrow. “Who’re you talking to there, kid?”

_Putting you with all the other crazies,_ River sings-songs. _All the freaks that nobody loves!_

“Shut up!” Bokuto stamps his foot and yanks on his hair. “No, they’re not!”

_Crazy, crazy freaky crazy. Hey, when you die, can I have your body?_

“Shut up, shut up!” He claps his hands to his ears, but that just makes it worse, just makes River’s cackling louder, just makes the room smaller, just makes his little body weaker. He screams and he screams, and he wants his Momma, the Momma who called him her lucky thing and who held him and told him she loved him. Instead, he gets scary people in white coats who shout at him and put something white and small and bitter in his mouth.

He sees Bird Boy’s eyes before everything goes black.

 

Bokuto is ten and he lives in the white room with the crazies, except he’s a crazy too, now. He’s put in a room with two boys from before- the one playing a Gameboy that isn’t there, and the boy with the electrical-socket hair.

“Who are you?” The boy with the electrical-socket hair asks. “And whatta you in for?”

“Bokuto Koutarou. I hear voices,” He tells him.

“Far out,” The kid laughs, and grins at him, all pointy like a cat. A clever, mean, bad, feral cat and Bokuto isn’t scared. “I’m Kuroo. I set things on fire. This is Kenma. He hallucinates things, but that’s ‘cause he’s super-duper smart.”

The little, slouchy boy who plays on an imaginary Game-Boy has soft, licorice hair and smart gold-river eyes. His voice is like static, only quiet and sort of scared-ish. “Do you live here now?”

“No,” Bokuto says. “I’m just staying until they help my Momma and make River go away."

“Who’s River?”

“The Other in my head,” Bokuto taps his forehead. “He tells me stuff. It’s pretty mean.”

_It’s the truth, kid._

“Shut up. I’m mad at you,” Bokuto tells River.

River laughs.

“Uh,” Kuroo raises an eyebrow dubiously. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m not.”

“If you weren’t crazy,” Kenma says quietly, “You wouldn’t be here.”

River cackles, and Bokuto doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“It’s alright,” Kuroo promises, throwing his arm around Bokuto’s neck and pulling him close. “We’re crazy, too. All the best people are.”

They take him into the white room that Kuroo calls the ‘Play Room’ and introduce him. Hinata is seven, scrawny and pulls out his hair. Kageyama is also seven, but he’s tall and grumpy and counts his steps. Noya is nine and can’t sit still. Oikawa is ten, loud, beautiful like shiny rocks, and he tells Bokuto to take a picture because it’ll last longer. Iwaizumi is ten and tells Oikawa "No one wants to take pictures of trash." Yamaguchi is seven and starts crying when Bokuto talks to him. Tsukishima is seven, but he's really tall and he glares at Bokuto when Yamaguchi starts crying, which is unfair. 

“Who’s that?” Bokuto asks, pointing to the little bird boy who sits in the corner of the white room for crazy kids and stares at his shoes.

“We don’t know,” Kuroo says. “He doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“He can’t,” Kenma corrects. “He’s mute.”

“Whatever. He’s weird,” Kuroo makes a face. “And pretty.”

Bokuto thinks Bird Boy is pretty, too. He also feels bad for yelling at him before.

_Told you he’s a freak._

“And I told you to shut up,” Bokuto mutters crossly, and then blushes when Kuroo looks offended. “Not you, Kuroo. River.”

“Oh,” Kuroo squints. “Does River talk to you all the time?”

“No,” Bokuto shakes his head. “But they’re always there.”

_Taking over you piece by piece. Someday, I’ll be the one in control._

“That’s dumb,” Bokuto announces. He feels a little weird saying things out loud now that he’s around Kenma and Kuroo, but it’s been like this for as long as he can remember. It gets him in trouble a lot, with the teachers and the men at Momma’s house.

“I think there’s something… different, about Koutaro, Ma’am.”

_“It’s not uncommon for young children to talk to themselves or have imaginary friends, but Bokuto makes it sound like he’s talking to someone inside him.”_

_“Gods, what the fuck is wrong with you? Look at this fucking retard. There’s no one else here, you piece of shit.”_

_“We’re recommending a child therapist. There may be issues at home that neither you nor your son are consciously aware of that are causing him to act out like this, hear voices.”_

_“Fucking possessed by demons. Get out of here. Go get hit by a car.”_

_“It’s best you schedule an appointment as soon as possible. He’s only five, but I’m worried that without proper treatment, these voices could cause him serious harm. Mentally and physically.”_

_No one loves you, Bokuto. I’m the only one who even knows you exist anymore, and I’m not even real._

_“That kid’s fucking retarded, Rin. Get rid of it.”_

_“Why couldn’t you be normal, Koutarou?”_

“Hey, Bokuto!” Kuroo tugs on his sleeve, and Bokuto jerks, startled. “Want to play Dragons with us?”

“Okay,” Bokuto agrees eagerly, and then looks back over his shoulder curiously at Bird Boy. “What about him?”

“He never says yes,” Oikawa says dismissively. “He and Yama-chan never want to play.”

Something is still drawing Bokuto to Bird Boy, though, so he leaves Kuroo and Oikawa squabbling over game specifics and joins the strange pretty boy with stormy ocean eyes. He crouches and scoots real close so that they’re almost touching and extends a hand like he’s seen people do on TV.

“Hi! I’m Bokuto!”

Bird Boy lifts his head warily, and stares at Bokuto with eyes like all the ink from all the storybooks Bokuto has ever read, and then very purposefully, as if he’s done it a million times before, points to his closed mouth.

“I know you can’t talk,” Bokuto says, smiling. “But we’re playing Dragons.”

Bird Boy raises a delicately crafted eyebrow, as if to ask, _So what?_

“So, come join us. We can be on the same team if you want.”

Bird Boy shakes his head.

“Why not?” Bokuto criss-crosses his legs. “It’ll be fun.”

Bird Boy blinks, and shakes his head harder, thick black hair falling into his face.

“Please?” Bokuto tries, and gets an unamused glare from beneath heavy dark curls. _No._ “Why not?”

The boy nods in the general direction of the other (crazy) kids and Bokuto cranes his neck.

“Who’re you looking at? Oh- them? No, they’re really nice. I mean, Tsukishima’s a bit of a jerk, and that Oikawa kid’s pretty stuck up, but Kuroo said we’re all crazy, so I guess it’s okay for crazy kids to be weird.”

Bird Boy takes in Bokuto for a long time, so long that Bokuto starts fidgeting. He stands up, hoping to ward off the itchiness of staying still, and extends his hand one last time. “Please come?”

And he’s so sure that he sees acceptance in the pretty boy’s eyes, resignation, and he bursts into a smile as the boy leaps to his feet (gracefully). Bokuto turns, calling out to Kuroo and Oikawa to pause, there are two new players.

But by the time he’s caught their attention and turned back around to ask what color he likes best, Pretty Bird Boy has disappeared.

 

_ii. you're just a sad song with nothing to say (disenchanted)_

Bokuto’s eleven, and he’s spent one year at the house for crazy kids. He knows all of them now; Kenma, Kuroo, Hinata, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Noya, Kageyama; all of their strange habits and complicated, long-ass disorders, their birthdays and what they like to do between meals and therapy. He knows all about them. All of them- except one. 

The boy with the green eyes is different. He’s not Bird Boy anymore- Bokuto got bored with that nickname forever ago. So he calls him Arashi, because Bokuto’s a go-for-the-obvious kind of guy.

To be honest, he doesn’t know what to make of Arashi, really. They’re not friends, which is weird because Bokuto is pretty much friends with everyone else. (He doesn’t get along super well with Tsukishima, but that’s because he scares Yamaguchi something awful, and Tsukishima gets angry when Bokuto makes Yamaguchi cry, even if it’s by accident because Yamaguchi’s scared of everything. Also, there’s Kageyama, but they’re not very close because Kageyama asks too many questions about River, and that’s uncomfortable)

River doesn’t like being in the house for crazy kids. They tell Bokuto that if he doesn’t get out, he’s going to die there, and that nobody likes crazy kids and that his mother doesn’t want him anymore. 

Most of the time, Bokuto tells River to stuff it. He’s been taking these little orange pills twice a day, and even if they stick to his tongue, and they make River quiet and slow, which is nice. The doctors talk to him a lot, too, with their serious faces and smudged glasses. They ask him how he’s feeling and what he’s been dreaming about, and what he thinks about this piece of paper with big black and blue and purple and red and yellow and blue stains on it. 

Bokuto tells them that he’s feeling okay, that he misses his Momma a lot, that he likes his friends. He talks about the deer in his dream who had three heads and granted wishes, and says that the stains look a lot like little kids hanging by their necks. He watches them write stuff on their big flashy laptops and then gets on the scale and has his measurements taken. 

After that, he goes and plays in the white room. Mostly, he plays with Kuroo and Noya, but also Oikawa, Kenma, Hinata, and Iwaizumi. Sometimes, all of them play together, even scared little Yamaguchi who cowers behind Tsukishima (the tallest, even though he’s nine). They play Pirates and Raiders and Dragon Riders and Superheroes and Horses and build complex fortresses out of hard blocks and throw pillows at each other and cook expensive meals at invisible ovens and catch Pokemon with invisible balls. 

Arashi never plays- he sits in the corner and reads books. Sometimes, nurses come out to give him special things to drink, or notebooks, which were confiscated after Kuroo tried to burn a hole to America into the carpet, and pens to write with.

Bokuto likes to play, and he loves his friends. He loves Kuroo, who is upbeat and exciting and really clever and funny. He also loves Noya, who is small, but loud and energetic, who always grins big at him as he sneaks a milk candy out of the nurse’s pockets. He loves Kenma, who is quiet and shy and can build almost everything out of anything. He loves Hinata who is fiery and small and stubborn, he loves Oikawa who is funny and impatient and rude. He likes his friends, and he gets mad when River talks about them in a bad way, and he tells them to stop so loudly that they do.

River calls him things, too; dumb and crazy and worthless and unloved and stupid and unwanted and alone, but Bokuto doesn’t tell them to stop, because it’s better than hearing them call his friends names. 

(He does his best not to listen)

Bokuto also really likes to sit beside Arashi and draw on borrowed paper. He draws airplanes and trees and zombies and cats and crowns and birds and hands and eyes and smiles and houses and family and bones and beer bottles and cigarettes and onigiri and needles. 

He always leaves the paper afterwards, because he’s not sure he’s allowed to have it, and it’s all covered in ink, so he can’t use it anymore. 

Arashi doesn’t mind Bokuto (at least, he doesn’t seem to, it’s hard to tell sometimes) and he lets him sit and draw and talk (to River, to himself, to Arashi, to the world). Some days, Arashi will tap Bokuto on the shoulder sort of gently to make him stop talking, and Bokuto stops and smiles to himself because Arashi’s communicating with him, and Arashi doesn’t do that with anyone else, not even the adults. 

He tells Arashi about lots of things. He tells him about his old house where he used to live and the old lady down the street who would throw sticks at him if he came up on her yard to pick her tomatoes. He talks about the cat that lived under the porch, and the pretty lilies in the vase on the counter. He tells Arashi about the times when his mom bought him dango and smiled at him and called him her lucky thing. He tells him about his thoughts, about his dreams to be an astronaut and go into space or maybe a fireman or a police officer. He tells him about River and about why he likes sunsets so much and about the view from the new house, the one with the creaky floorboards and the dirty sink and bad men.

He talks and talks and talks, and he knows Arashi’s listening, even if the storm-eyed boy never looks up.

 

_iii. run, run, bunny, run (s/c/a/r/e/c/r/o/w)_

Bokuto is twelve, and he has spent two years at the house for crazy kids. A little part of him is starting to wonder if he’ll ever leave, but whenever he asks Dr. Ukai about his mom, he gets a “She’s still in recovery, Koutarou. I’m sorry.” 

He’s learned that Dr. Ukai is a lot nicer than he looks, that he’s the only doctor who calls them by their first names, that he’s young and spirited. He also hears all the other nurses and head docs say he’ll burn out too quick because he cares too much, but Bokuto is sort of glad Ukai’s there, because that means at least one doctor cares.

But Bokuto doesn’t have time to worry about Dr. Ukai, because he’s beginning to freak out about his pills. Sometimes they’re small and green or hard and white, sometimes they’re pink and bitter or orange and oblong, and sometimes they sting his eyes and sit like rocks in his stomach until he throws them up. They change every few days, and he’s worried, because he’s old enough to know that means they can’t figure out his dose, that they don’t really know what to do to help him.

And that’s pretty scary, so when the doctor (not Dr. Ukai, he’s a psychologist or a psychoanalyst or whatever, Bokuto can never remember the difference, this doctor is a Meds doc, she is tired and worn, kind of like Bokuto’s shoes) asks him if he’s doing better, if River is quieter, he says ‘no’, and feels her disappointment like a punch to the stomach. It’s making him nervous because nothing’s working, not even the bright orange ones, and River laughs every time he tries a new kind and tells him to stop being such a fucking idiot and just give in. 

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he’ll sit awake in his own room (his night-terrors scared Kenma so much, Kuroo had no choice but to make him leave) and River will tell him that the vent above his head (“It’s aliens coming to get you!” “Shut up, Trashykawa, it’s not aliens, it’s the AC.” “Iwa-chan, don’t hit me!”) is loose, that there is a plate of metal all bent and worn from repairs and that if he reached, he could rip it free. Then he could draw more, use his skin like paper and it would be the prettiest red and River would be proud of him.

And sometimes, even though he doesn’t want to, Bokuto tries. He’s only twelve, though, and he’s too short (too weak), so River feeds him nightmares and calls him worthless and stupid, and Bokuto feels guilty because he’s not tall enough and his pills aren’t working and everyone’s disappointed in him. 

Every morning at breakfast, Bokuto sits next to Arashi and tells him about his dreams. Then he asks how Arashi slept, and listens to the silence. Sometimes, he’s so sure he can hear Arashi say  _ well, thank you, Bokuto-san. _

Then, Arashi has his meeting with a head doc, a med doc, and some weird lady with bright red glasses who Bokuto knows Arashi doesn’t like. Noya eventually explains that she’s the speech therapist.

“I couldn’t speak very well when I got here,” He explains. “Mostly because my mom did lots of drugs while she was pregnant with me, which was fun, thanks, Mom. But Eddie-san’s pretty good. I don’t stutter much anymore.” 

Then, when Arashi comes back out, it’s time for Oikawa’s appointment, and then Kenma’s and then Kuroo’s, and then sometime towards the end, Bokuto’s. He’s newest, so he goes last, which means he misses part of dinner a lot (that sucks). 

Bokuto doesn’t bother inviting Arashi to come hang out with them and play videogames, but he does force him to come outside when it’s sunny and everyone is psyched up for a game of volleyball or basketball or soccer. Arashi won’t play (obviously), but he does enjoy the sunshine, and sometimes, he even puts his book down to watch, which feels like a victory. 

When it’s Kuroo’s turn for the appointment, that’s when Bokuto joins Arashi to talk about dresses and scratchy sheets and pills, to draw smiles and computers and corpses.

Bokuto has discovered that he likes to draw. He knows how to hold the pen to make the lines dark and bold or thin and light or thin and bold and thick and light. He practices making lips curve in and out, making thumbs and knuckles and wrists and nails. He draws Kuroon in dark, bold lines, and Kenma in thin, light lines. He tries to draw Hinata, who won’t sit still, and draws Oikawa ugly on purpose (then he feels bad and makes him beautiful again). 

_ It’s not good enough,  _ River says, every time Bokuto sits back to look at what he’s created.  _ Get rid out it.  _

So Bokuto nods and sets it aside, tells Arashi that he’ll see him later, and joins Oikawa’s renditions of ‘How Much Can I Annoy Iwa-chan Without Him Punching Me In The Face’.

_ iv. so long and goodnight (helena) _

Bokuto is thirteen, and he has spent three years at the house for crazy kids. He is thirteen and he grows three inches in four months. He grows tall enough that they have to get him new pants and new shirts and even new underwear. He’s going through a growth spurt, and when he complains that he’s hungry, Noya slips him extra onigiri at breakfast. 

He starts having to take more pills more often. The Med Heads say it’s because he’s growing, and a small dose won’t be enough anymore. River says it’s because they’re trying to poison him.

(They say it with such conviction that Bokuto believes them. He starts hiding the pills in his pockets instead of swallowing them, flushing them down the toilet when he knows no one’s paying attention)

Bokuto’s thirteen when he finally makes friends with Yamaguchi. He is thirteen when he and Hinata have a serious jumping contest and he  _ loses _ because  _ holy shit _ , that kid can jump. He is thirteen when all he can see in the blot tests are rotting bodies (he lies and says he sees boobs and cats). He is thirteen when he has scary moments of silence, when he and River battle for control, when he feels his grip give way, just a little bit, hears River’s laugh get a little bit louder. He is thirteen when they get DDR, and he, Kuroo, and Oikawa get caught breaking down to  _ Toxic _ at midnight because none of them can sleep. He is thirteen when he learns what imaginary numbers are in the lessons old man Nekomata teaches in the mornings and afternoon, and decides they are  _ stupid _ . 

Bokuto is thirteen when Ukai sees him drawing Tsukishima (who is kind of an ass, but kind of really funny about it) and says, (with the appropriate amount of surprise), “Koutarou, that’s really good.”

“No, it’s not,” Bokuto says, at the same time River says,  _ What a fucking idiot. Don’t listen to him, kid. It’s terrible. _

Dr. Ukai raises an eyebrow. “No?”

_ No. _

_ “ _ It’s terrible.” Bokuto says blandly, because that’s what River says, and he’s gotten good at listening to River (it’s so much easier than fighting).

“Why?”

“Umm... “ Bokuto appraises the sketch critically, and points with dirt-cracked fingernails (Ukai managed to convince Management™ to let them grow vegetables). “The shading is bad, the fingers are too big, the clothes aren’t right, and his hair isn’t working out. Plus, his eyes are terrible.”

Dr. Ukai is always busy because he’s the only head doctor who works with the younger kids and the older kids, so when he does have time to hang out, he’s very careful to spend it with all of them. 

But instead of joining in the extremely violent game of frisbee (“Get the  _ fuck _ out of my way, you fucking  _ lamppost _ , I will  _ set your hair on fire-”)  _  he looks at Bokuto’s drawing for a very long time, and then sits down in a flurry of heavy limbs. 

Arashi looks up from the book he’s reading (it’s thicker than Bokuto’s arm, and it’s not even in Japanese, what the hell, Arashi), and stares at Dr. Akai with his big storm-ocean eyes.

“Hello, Keiji,” The man says, and inside, Bokuto pounces on the name.  _ Keiji. Keijij. Keiji Keiji Keiji.  _ It fits the boy like a song.

_ Faggot, _ Mutters River, and Bokuto flinches.  _ Fucking worthless faggot.  _

He does his best to tune them out as Dr. Ukai picks up his drawing and holds it up to catch in the late afternoon light. 

“Did you take art classes when you were little, Bokuto?”

“No.” 

Dr. Ukai has a funny, unsurprised look on his face, like he’s desperately trying to conceal something. Bokuto leans away instinctively, wrapping his arms around his legs and ducking his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Dr. Ukai laughs. “Koutarou, why are you sorry? You’re saying no one has ever taught you how to draw?”

Bokuto shakes his head no once, twice, three times for effect, anxiously scratching at his wrist, “No.”

“You taught yourself?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Koutarou, this is  _ amazing _ ,” His face lights up like he’s just won the national lottery and he fist-pumps the air. Bokuto, completely taken-aback by the ecstatic joy, shies away as Ukai turns his bright eyes on him. “This is  _ incredible.  _ Can I keep it?”

“Y-you want it?” Bokuto blinks, stunned. “That?”

“Yes, I’d love it.”

“Uhh… O-okay,” Bokuto stutters. “I mean, s-sure?” 

“Thanks, Kou,” Dr. Ukai jumps up, and without further ado, trots back into the house for crazy kids. 

Bokuto stares after him, mouth agape. River, who is always chafing at the opportunity to cut Bokuto down, is silent. 

There’s a soft touch on his shoulder, and he turns automatically, still stunned. Recognizing the concerned green eyes and the warm hand resting cautiously on his arm, he shakes off the bewilderment and smiles softly. 

“Arashi,” He says, a little breathless, and then, remembering, “Keiji.”

The boy flinches at the use of his first name, and moves to retract his fingers. But Bokuto grabs it, and wraps his dirty fingers through it, squeezing. “I’m sorry! Do you not want me to call you Keiji? I just thought you’d like it better since it’s your real name and everything, but I can keep calling you Arashi.” 

Arashi nods vehemently, and Bokuto laughs. “Okay, Arashi! Also, did you see how weird that just was? No one likes my drawings. Dr. Ukai must be crazy, because that one was terrible. If Tsukishima saw it, he’d probably punch me in the face. I mean, I practice a lot, but they’re not good at all. There’s always so much missing and wrong and I can never get the faces right. River always tells me they’re terrible, and I know they’re terrible, even the ones I work really hard on, and they’re really just awful and ugly. No one will like them. They’re not-” Bokuto freezes as he feels Arashi’s palm on his shoulder once again. 

“Sorry, Arashi. Should I stop talking? That book you’re reading isn’t in Japanese, you probably want quiet and-”

But Arashi just motions for the paper lying underneath Bokuto’s left knee, and takes the pen out of his fingers.

“Oh, you want paper? Okay. Sure. I mean, it’s yours, the nurses give it to you to write with, it’s not even mine, why would you even ask?”

Arashi’s lips twitch in something that, had Bokuto looked twice, might have been a smile. 

Bokuto goes back to chattering, to the unbroken stream of consciousness, the helpless, hapless tumble of words streaming from his tongue like a waterfall, and when their hour is over and the nurses are ushering them inside, something slips into Bokuto’s palm. 

It’s the piece of paper, and written in the corner in tiny, swooping handwriting, are thirteen simple characters.

_ “I think they’re beautiful.”  _

Bokuto beams, and River is finally roused from their paralysis. 

_ They fucking suck,  _ River says,  _ You fucking retard. _

And maybe it’s the electric current of unabridged happiness in his veins, but for some reason, Bokuto just laughs and says, “Shut up, River.”

And they do. Bokuto doesn’t hear so much as a  _ ‘faggot’ _ out of them all afternoon.

That night, with Arashi’s careful note tucked under his pillow, River wakes Bokuto up with a scream. Confused and disoriented, Bokuto can’t protect himself in time, can’t reach out to turn on the light (River’s a lot more powerful in the dark) or shout for help, can only writhe pathetically as River corners him in his own bed sheets and  _ attacks _ . Screams and screams and screams, calls him  _ faggot _ and  _ worthless _ and  _ useless _ and  _ crazy  _ and  _ broken  _ and  _ stupid  _ and  _ unloved _ and  _ alone  _ and  _ pathetic _ and  _ retarded _ and  _ fucked up _ and  _ crazy _ and  _ psychotic _ . They whisper that Bokuto should just slit his wrists and end it there, make him pull his hair and tell him that no one loves him, make him scratch until he bleeds and shout that everyone at this house for crazy kids is just waiting for him to die, that his is alone, so terribly alone and if he died that night, no one would ever care because they hate, hate, hate him. 

Bokuto is thirteen when he is attacked by the monster in his head. He is thirteen when his spirit splits under the hatred and fury.  He is thirteen when he wets his bed. He is thirteen when he is finally tall enough to reach the vent. He is thirteen when his hands tremble and he can finally wiggle the metal out with shaking fingers. 

Bokuto is thirteen when he tries to take his life for the first time.

__

_ v. nothing but a dead scene (sing) _

Bokuto is fourteen, and he has spent four years at the house for crazy kids. 

Fourteen is not a good year.

It is a bad year.

It is a year of lots and lots and lots and lots of medication, of living in a haze with weird cotton balls in his ears and clouds in his eyes. It’s having to sit down a lot because the pills make him dizzy. It’s losing the pens and paper and having long, long talks with head doctors who all look the same. It’s sometimes forgetting Kuroo’s name, and being unable to remember words. It’s leaving Arashi to sit all by himself because Bokuto just wants to hide in the dark of his room, sit against a wall, and drown himself in his own misery.

It’s living with River who is just getting worse. 

It’s living with River every day, living with a voice telling Bokuto over and over again that he is  _ stupid, fucking idiotic piece of shit, worthless fucking broken freak, you’re a crazy motherfucking psycho with no friends and no one loves you, Bokuto, no one loves you _

It is a year of being taught that  _ taking your life is not an option Bokuto _ . It is a year of  _ killing yourself is not okay.  _ It is a year of being sad and guilty and ashamed and frustrated because he can’t get himself to work right, frustrated because the doctors are frustrated at him because he isn’t working right, hearing Ukai shouting  _ he’s fourteen, you can’t put him on antipsychotics _ and hating himself. It is a year of trying to teach a fourteen-year-old schizophrenic that their life is valuable and watching them lie through their teeth and say  _ ‘I know _ .’ 

It’s a year of pushing everyone away. Kuroo, who swears when Bokuto shuts the door on him, Kenma who wears tear tracks down his cheeks like old makeup, Noya who can’t look him in the face, Hinata who tries to smile and ends up crying, and Kageyama who tries to tell him that being alone makes it worse, and ends up leaving because he’s upset. Iwaizumi, who cracks jokes, but leaves holes in the wall when he leaves, Oikawa who sits stubbornly at his door until they drag him kicking and screaming away, Tsukishima who glowers at him, and Yamaguchi who tells him that he’s loved. And Arashi, who doesn’t do anything, just slips into Bokuto’s room and lies down next to him, who shuts his eyes and pulls his knees tight when Bokuto yells at him to  _ GO AWAY, LEAVE ME ALONE _ until he’s hoarse and they’re both crying, and then when he wakes up, he’s buried in blankets, and Arashi is nowhere to be found. 

It is a year of apologizing.  _ I’m sorry for breaking the plate. I’m sorry for stepping on your book. I’m sorry for missing the alarm. I’m sorry for forgetting my dreams. I’m sorry for being useless. I’m sorry my meds aren’t working. I’m sorry for forgetting about you. I’m sorry for missing dinner. I’m sorry for skipping therapy. I’m sorry for being an idiot. I’m sorry for trying to take my life.  _

_ I’m sorry, River,  _ He says.

_ Shut your fucking mouth, you fucking retard. _

 

_ vi. because this ain't a room full of suicides (save yourself i'll hold them back) _

Bokuto is fifteen, and his fifth year at the house for crazy kids begins much like his fourth. It is a a year of being alone, of sitting in the shadows of his room, staring at the ceiling and keeping track of how many times River calls him a retard with the glint of a blade and little red lines up his thigh.

During his fifth year at the house for crazy kids, there’s a knock on his door and he opens it expecting a Med Head with a cup of pills that they both know won’t work, and finds Arashi instead.

Arashi, who has grown from the small bird boy with fragile bones and gentle eyes to a beautiful boy with caramel skin, thick dark curls, slender, almond-shaped eyes that are mostly green but sometimes blue and sometimes gray. And Arashi stares at him for a long time, and then grabs him by the wrist and  _ pulls _ . 

Bokuto isn’t expecting it, (he’s still trying to get over how beautiful Arashi looks even in their ugly gray scrubs), and Arashi is also a lot stronger than Bokuto was expecting, so by the time he tries to stop, it’s too late, and their momentum has them crashing to the ground (Arashi’s fingers wrapped in Bokuto’s shirt so tight, he’s afraid it’s going to rip). There’s shouting and cheering from behind, and someone slams his door with a humongous crash, but Bokuto’s too busy trying to work out with kneecap is his and if Arashi’s elbow has actually punctured his spleen.

Then there are hands on his back, and he’s being dragged upright, brushed off, and leaned against the wall. A pair of brilliant gold eyes appear in his line of vision.

“How’s it hanging, Captain?” Kuroo asks, tight pain shining in his eyes. Bokuto blinks, and his vision expands, and he sees everyone. Noya. Tsukishima. Yamaguchi. Oikawa. Iwaizumi. Hinata. Kageyama. Kenma. Kuroo. Arashi. 

He can’t quite stop looking at Arashi and his words exist somewhere outside of his attention, muffled and rusty (“Do you know up dog?”)

_ Why? _ He asks Arashi. The boy with the green eyes blinks, and Bokuto knows he understands.

_ It’s time, _ Arashi responds, and gestures lightly at the crowd of teenage boys clustered in an overly-cramped hallway.  _ It’s time for you to come back to us. _

(“What’s ‘up dog?’” Oikawa asks)

_ Oh, _ Bokuto realizes. Because they’re all here for him. Even grumpy Tsukishima and scared little Yamaguchi. They care, they love him, they want him  _ back _ . Back in the sunlight, back in the white room, back into life. 

And Bokuto, for the first time in over a year, wants it, too.

_ Yeah, it is, _ he tells Arashi, and turns to Oikawa.

“Nothing much, what’s up with you?”

__

Fifteen is just as hard as fourteen. Harder, in a lot of ways, because falling into a pit is never as hard as climbing back out. Most days, Bokuto feels like he’s back where he started, where everything is dark and cold and he just wants to hide in his room and drag a blade across his skin. 

But fifteen is different than fourteen, because this time, he isn’t alone. 

Fifteen is the year of finding food underneath his mattress from Noya, dried nori and still-warm dancho, melon soda and cream buns, of waking up to a pair of gold eyes and a jingling keychain. 

It is the year that Iwaizumi breaks into the pharmacy and replaces the pills that make Bokuto hazy with the pills that make him sleep better at night.

Kenma figures out how to loop a camera’s feed Bokuto’s fifth year, and consequently, it is the year that Bokuto wakes up from an empty sleep and finds all of them standing in his room with lumpy pillows and ruffled hair. 

Oikawa has strategic psychotic breakdowns so that Bokuto doesn’t have to go to his therapy sessions, and when the docs catch on, switches to stripping and running down the halls screaming about aliens. 

Tsukishima punches an intern in the face when he overhears him calling Bokuto ‘a crazy schizo’, and then convinces Management™ that it was an accident. (“I was aiming for the cockroach, it’s not my fault this place is infested with them-”)

Yamaguchi makes him a playlist (using Tsukishima’s CDs) that he calls ‘Bokuto’s Fight Songs’ (the first three tracks are Rick Astley, and when Bokuto hears them, he laughs so hard, he can feel River slip a millimeter or two). 

Kageyama teaches him how to run the right way, and every few nights, they sneak down to the gym together and sprint until they’re too tired to make it back to their rooms, and fall asleep together tucked behind the treadmills.

Hinata buys a fuck-ton of sticky notes off of Dr. Ukai and spends several days covering Bokuto’s room from floor to ceiling. Every day, Bokuto takes a handful down, and reads the carefully-printed kanji telling him that he is worth it. He stores each one underneath his mattress. 

It’s the year Kuroo teaches him how to breath until his heart stops pounding like a kettle drum, how to count backwards from a thousand without stopping so that River can’t get a word in. 

Dr. Akai buys him his own sketchpad and his own pencils and his own pens and his own paint brushes and tells him to get his own feelings out on paper. 

Fifteen is the year that Arashi talks.

It’s hard to understand at first because Arashi doesn’t write it down, he traces it into the sensitive skin at the base of Bokuto’s shoulder blades with warm, trembling fingers and Bokuto memorizes every single line. 

Arashi’s name is Akaashi Keiji and he likes the color gold. His favorite book is  _ Watership Down _ . He’s allergic to bee stings and is terrified of thunder. He isn’t very good at math, but he’s fluent in seven different languages. He likes cats a lot and wants to maybe pursue a career in cooking when he’s old enough. 

He wasn’t born mute, but he stopped speaking after he saw his mother slit her wrists in front of him. 

Bokuto’s heart stops, and almost like he can feel it, Akaashi’s fingers pause, too. Hesitant. Scared.

_ I was the one who found you, _ They continue, and Bokuto chokes.  _ I started screaming.  _

“I’m sorry.”

_ No, _ The fingers press the character  _ hard _ into Bokuto’s vertebrae.  _ Do not apologize, Bo. I just… I’ve never been that scared before. Not even when I found my mom. I was too young, or whatever. But when I saw you, I think a part of me died. I was so scared, I couldn’t breathe. All I could do was grab you and try… try to make you stop bleeding.  _

Akaashi is shaking so hard that his characters run together and Bokuto has to focus everything on the boy with the storm-ocean eyes so as not to miss a word of it. 

_ All I could think was ‘Why didn’t I tell him how much I liked him? That I enjoyed spending time with him? Why didn’t I tell him that I cared?’ I mean, that and ‘oh my god, he’s bleeding’. _

Bokuto huffs out a laugh. It’s a little twisted, maybe, to laugh at your own suicide attempt, but Bokuto’s discovered he’s a pretty twisted guy, so oh well. 

_ So I just wanted you to know that I care about you. And I think you’re kind and funny and smart and gentle and amazing.  _

_ Faggot,  _ River says cruelly, and it sinks deep into Bokuto’s heart, it hurts and it stings, it aches.  _ Stupid fucking idiotic piece of shit, worthless freak of nature, retarded stupid faggot, no one loves you, they hate you, broken waste of space.  _

Bokuto is fifteen, and he still hates himself, because the funny thing about a kid is that when they’re told cruel shit long enough, they’ll start to believe it. 

“Akaashi,” He murmurs softly, and the fingers stop. He turns, and ends up with an armful of beautiful bird boy in his arms, clutching at him like he’s terrified to let go. Akaashi is shaking, body wracked with helpless sobs, and it’s all Bokuto can do to whisper, “I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

_ I can’t lose you, _ Is what Akaashi writes into Bokuto’s collarbone.  _ Please. You’re so important to me. To us. We love you, Bokuto. All your dumb jokes and bad hair days and overdramatics. _

Bokuto laughs, and crushes the bird boy closer. 

But Bokuto is fifteen when he sees the light to his darkness. It’s tiny, and it’s vulnerable, but it looks a lot like Kuroo’s smile and Noya’s eyes and Hinata’s burning hair and Tsukishima’s glower. It’s sounds a lot like Kenma’s mumble and Yamaguchi’s laugh and Kageyama’s pants and Oikawa’s voice telling the nurses that “I AM NOT THE DROID YOU ARE LOOKING FOR!”. It feels a lot like Akaashi’s fingers on his spine, telling him that  _ You’re okay, Bokuto. _

It tastes a lot like friends.

And Bokuto is fifteen when he learns to reach for it.

 

_vii. we'll carry on (welcome to the black parade)_

Bokuto is eighteen, and it is his last year in the house for crazy kids.

He sits on the roof of the house for crazy kids, among the moss and the flowers because okay, so maybe the whole vegetable thing got a little out of hand, but they’re the first mental institution with a living roof, so take that, Management™. Below him, it’s Everyone Vs. The Freak Pair in volleyball, and Bokuto’s pretty sure (judging by the mask of horror and disbelief on Oikawa’s face and general screaming) that Kageyama and Hinata are  _ actually winning _ .

“I don’t understand,” He says, swinging his legs, “I mean, it’s seven against two!”

_ They’re freaks.  _

Bokuto laughs, and closes his eyes, enjoying the last of the sunshine as it drops below the skyline. “Just like me, hmm?”

_ Just like all of us,  _ Fingers trail up along his spine and up the back of his neck, tipping his head back. Soft lips map their way across his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, the planes of his cheeks, finally settling on his mouth. They taste like rain and paper and rosemary, and Bokuto breaks the kiss amusedly. 

“Have you been eating our living roof?” 

_ No, _ His eyes open and all he sees are a pair of dark, intelligent green-gray-blue eyes, like the ocean that he saw last month when they snuck out for Oikawa’s birthday (Ukai caught them of course, before they’d even begun their fifty-something-step plan, him and his creepy-nice new assistant, Suga-something-or-other, he’d let them go on the condition that they would  _ not get drunk _ . They did of course, they all got hammered, but Ukai let it slide anyway).  _ Just tasting. _

“Oh, excuse me,” Bokuto reaches, and a soft set of fingers slide into his. He tugs, and there’s a quiet noise of protest, but less than ten seconds later, Bokuto has one Akaashi Keiji nestled in his lap like an oversized kitten. Settling his face in the crook of his boyfriend’s lovely neck, Bokuto murmurs, “You going to be alright without me?”

_ What do you think?  _ Akaashi traces into Bokuto’s palm.  _ It’ll be amazing. Finally have all the peace and quiet I could ask for. _

Bokuto snorts. “Not with the Freak Duo you won’t. And not with our new recruits, either. What are those albino twin’s names, again?”

_ They’re Aone and Lev, _ Akaashi corrects,  _ And for the record, they aren’t twins and they aren’t albino. _

“Yeah, but they’re a nuisance. The Russian one is always making that Extra Shrimp-”

_ Yaku. _

“Yeah, him, he’s making Yaku mad, and the really tall one won’t stop staring at me.”

_ You’re quite a sight. _

“Yeah, bet it’s not often they see such a hunk like me, I’m the catch of the year. Too bad for them I am one hundred and four percent taken.”

He gets a soft kiss to the jaw for that one, and he grins into his boyfriend’s shaggy hair. 

Oikawa’s screaming interrupts the moment. 

“IWA-CHAN,  _ RUDE _ .”

There’s a soft murmur of laughter from deep within Akaashi’s chest, and Bokuto grows solemn.

“How’ve the speech classes been coming along?” He asks.

Akaashi throws him a dark look.

“I’m leaving in two days, ‘Kashi,” Bokuto murmurs softly. “You need to know how to communicate. It’s time.”

There’s a long pause, and he can practically hear his boyfriend’s memories through the back of his head. 

“Nothing much, what’s up with you,” Akaashi says, and it catches Bokuto so totally by surprise that he very nearly sends them both flying off the roof. He catches himself, though, and there’s just enough time to roll Akaashi over and kiss him breathless before the sun sets. 

“You have a beautiful voice,” He tells Akaashi, in between tracing the boy’s mouth with his tongue. 

“It’s coming-,” Akaashi says, and his voice is halting and shaky, broken and hesitant (though much of that probably has to do with the fact that Bokuto has attached himself to the especially sensitive spot of skin right where Akaashi’s collarbone meets his neck). “-Along.”

It’s just about then when something very hard and round smacks Bokuto so hard in the back of the neck that he very nearly bites Akaashi’s tongue off. 

“STOP TRYING TO SUCK EACH OTHER’S FACES OFF AND COME HELP US BEAT THESE SMUG LITTLE ASSHOLES,” Noya shouts, and there’s a chorus of ‘here, heres’. 

Akaashi levels a Tsukishima-grade glower at Bokuto, and the wild-haired boy laughs.

“What?” 

_ This is your fault.  _

“Is not.”

_ Is so. _

“Sorry for being so overcome by my amazing boyfriend that I needed to  _ ravish _ him,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi, for all his dignified glaring, blushes. 

“I SWEAR TO GOD, BOKUTO, I WILL COME UP THERE AND YOU WILL NOT BE HAPPY,” That one’s from Kuroo, and Bokuto winces. 

“He’s-”

_ Not joking, I know.  _

“ALRIGHT, WE’RE COMING, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES,” Bokuto hollars, and rolls off his boyfriend as a sort of Satanic cheer bubbles up from the volleyball game. Akaashi sits up, pulling at the sleeves of his (Bokuto’s, and it makes his head spin to see Akaashi, beautiful, quiet, amazing Akaashi in  _ his _ clothes) enormous sweatshirt. 

“You. Have dys functional. Friends,” Akaashi says, and yeah, it comes out all cracked and wobbly, with all the emphasis on the wrong syllables, and Bokuto can tell from the look of consternation on Akaashi’s face that he won’t be satisfied, not until it’s perfect, but Bokuto thinks he’s pretty perfect right just the way he is. 

“All the best people are,” He says. (Down below, Kuroo sneezes and gets whacked for his efforts)

_ Freak,  _ River says. River, who has not gone away, who will probably never go away, but who he is learning to come to terms with. They get along better, Bokuto and the voice inside his head. They aren’t friends, River still definitely has it out for him. But they aren’t very strong anymore, and it is only on really bad days that Bokuto can feel himself slipping. Learning to love yourself is a long, painful, exhaustive process, but Bokuto is getting there, one step at a time. He’s got Kuroo and Oikawa and Iwaizumi coming with him to university in the spring, (something that was not entirely planned, but was not really unplanned, either), Dr. Ukai’s personal phone number (which he definitely regrets by now, as Bokuto is the king of spamming), and a hot date less than an hour’s train ride down the line. He isn’t doing this alone anymore (not that he ever was, not since that first day nearly eight years ago).

So, yeah. Bokuto Koutarou? He’s going to be just fine. 

__ Shut up, River, _ _ He thinks. And River does. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> "I am living proof that no matter how bad life gets,  
> it gets better,  
> I am Gerard Way,  
> and I survived."
> 
> (Gerard Way)
> 
> Come bother me on [Tumblr!](http://iamtherabbitwhisperer.tumblr.com/)


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